


Femslash Pornathon

by BootsnBlossoms



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Gentle Happy Lesbians, Lesbian Kama Sutra, Light BDSM, Manipulation, Nipple Clamps, Orgasm Delay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:38:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1586909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BootsnBlossoms/pseuds/BootsnBlossoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of femslash porn fics written for Team Alpha in the <a href="http://mating-games.livejournal.com/">Mating Games Challenges</a>. Chapter titles are more specific :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lydia/Allison, Controlling the Scream

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt: "For our first Bonus Challenge this year I want you to either show or tell me about a report that comes across the Sheriff's desk in Beacon Hills."
> 
> The pairing:  
> Allison Argent/Lydia Martin
> 
> The porn: Allison wants to help Allison learn to control her scream.
> 
> Many thanks to the amazing [rayvanfox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rayvanfox/pseuds/rayvanfox) (aka [zooeyscigar](http://zooeyscigar.tumblr.com/)) for the incredibly last-minute beta work. I seriously don't know how he puts up with me:D

Lydia writhed on the bed as Allison finished securing the rope cuffs to the wrought-iron headboard. Allison has already stripped Lydia down to her bra and panties, leaving her bare skin, hot and flushed, to seek the cool comfort of the satin sheets beneath her. She tugged at the hemp cords as Allison’s nail trailed a beautifully stinging line up the inside of her leg, whimpering when she realized she couldn’t pull free.

“Safe word?” Allison asked, voice quiet but demanding.

Lydia lifted her head to catch Allison’s gaze, heart speeding up further at the fire and determination there. “Seabrook.”

With a satisfied nod, Allison put a knee up on the bed, then swung her other leg over Lydia’s hips to straddle her. Lydia bucked at the hot, damp heat of Allison’s underwear against her own, closing her eyes as her breath escaped her. Allison was still dressed - her soft cotton skirt tickling against Lydia’s thighs, her yellow tank top a beacon of brightness in the dim room - but that only made Lydia’s pleasure more intense.

“What did I do?” Lydia asked as Allison leaned over the bed.

“There was a report,” Allison replied calmly. She leaned over the bed to pick up something from the floor, and Lydia watched the muscles in Allison’s back and shoulders tense and flex. Lydia clenched her hands, secured uselessly above her, with the desire to touch.

Allison lifted herself back up and set the item she’d retrieved - a small red gym bag - on the bed next to Lydia’s chest.

“What kind of report?” Lydia asked as Allison opened the bag and shuffled through the contents.

“The kind that we need to avoid having cross police desks in the future,” Allison said sternly. Then she made a noise of triumph and pulled a set of chains and clamps free from the bag.

“Oh?” Lydia asked even as her pulse skyrocketed. That particular set was three-pronged, and its appearance meant that Lydia was in for one hell of a lesson.

“Incident report one-seven-three-four-six,” Allison recited as she dropped the chains on Lydia’s bare midriff. Lydia shuddered hard at the cold metal against her skin, stomach swooping in anticipation. “Unknown subject screaming loud enough to alert and concern one Brian Mitchell, head of the neighborhood watch in that area.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Lydia protested, but her indignant rebuttal was cut off by Allison’s finger pressed to her lips.

“Shhh…” Allison whispered quietly, shaking her head and smiling. Then she bent forward and replaced her finger with her mouth and kissed Lydia slowly. Indulgently. The calm before the storm.

Before the kiss was over, Allison shifted her hands from where they’d been cradling Lydia’s face to the straps of Lydia’s bra. As she pulled away, Allison unhooked the straps of the convertible bra. Lydia arched to give Allison further access, and Allison didn’t hesitate to reach under and unsnap the closure, removing the bra entirely and dropping it on the floor.

“We’re lucky to have a sheriff in the office who catches those kind of reports before anyone gets a chance to investigate,” Allison continued. “But, as we’ve seen a couple times in the past year, we can’t absolutely count on Stilinski always holding his title.”

Lydia closed her eyes again as her breasts were freed, nipples hardening in the chilly air of the room. Part of her wanted to protest again, to remind Allison that, as a banshee, sometimes she just had to scream.  But the bigger part of her craved this. Lydia, most of the time, was happy to be the one in charge. The one instructing and planning and doling out the lessons. But sometimes, especially when she felt her most out of control, she wanted someone else to take the reins.

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” Allison continued. She smirked down at Lydia, eyes sharp and burning. But Allison didn’t immediately continue. She leaned down and took one of Lydia’s nipples into her mouth, sucking and biting and abusing it until it was red and sore. Lydia arched into the feeling, hissing in pain but still pushing herself deeper into Allison’s welcoming mouth. Lydia lost track of time as she panted and jerked under Allison’s sharp teeth and even sharper nails, welcoming the distraction from her mind with her body.

Finally, when Lydia was whimpering at the ache in both her breasts, Allison pulled away. Then she picked up the chain and clamps.

“Allison,” Lydia breathed, watching her adjust the pins.

“Sorry, beautiful,” Allison chuckled. Then she opened the first clamp and attached it to Lydia’s left nipple. Lydia’s breath stuttered and she flinched, pulling away the little she could manage while pinned under Allison and tied to the headboard.

Allison laughed and flicked at the clamp, grinning as Lydia whimpered. “Perfect.”

“What, exactly,” Lydia demanded, proud of how her voice waivered only a little, “is this supposed to teach me.”

Allison didn’t answer at first, too intent on securing the second clamp to Lydias right nipple. Lydia sucked in a sharp breath, and the chain rattled pleasantly with the heaving of her chest. Lydia was about to demand an answer when Allison shifted, moving to sit on Lydia’s shins.

“Allison,” Lydia begged as Allison’s hands came to rest on the soft skin of her stomach. Allison didn’t tease, though — she wasn’t the type. She tugged Lydia’s panties, soft and red and silken, down just far enough to expose her. Lydia’s body began trembling when Allison leaned over.

Allison’s hot tongue on her vulva would forever be one of Lydia’s favorite feelings. Allison was rough and insistent and unapologetic, lapping and sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin of her labia and the the hood of her clit, pulling at the ring that connected the nipple clamps until tears were rolling down Lydia’s face. Allison knew better than anyone how to make Lydia feel good — even despite the patient, repeated instruction she’d given Jackson during their years together. It wasn’t long before Lydia felt orgasm building in between her legs, coiling like a spring.

But Allison knew her too well, could read Lydia’s body too perfectly. She pulled off just as Lydia felt herself tipping over the edge, leaving her a shivery, achy mess.

“It’s not so very different from orgasm delay, I don’t think,” Allison said, wiping at her mouth with her shirt. “Scream delay,” she clarified, a wicked light in her eyes as she picked up the third chain on the ring. She bent over Lydia again, and Lydia tried — unsuccessfully — to pull away. Allison held Lydia’s hips with one hand and snapped the clamp on Lydia’s clit with her other.

“Don’t scream,” she instructed harshly as Lydia sucked in a sharp breath.

The pain, at first, was intense. It crashed over Lydia in waves, her thighs shaking as Lydia rode it out. Then it centered into something more pleasurable than painful as the endorphins started to play merry havoc with Lydia’s senses.

Allison grasped the ring connecting the three chains and tugged. Lydia almost cried out, but at the challenging look in Allison’s eyes managed to hold back.

“Good,” Allison praised, not releasing the pressure on the chains even as she kissed Lydia softly. Lydia shuddered in pleasure, waiting for what came next.

Allison reached into the bag again with her free hand and pulled out a wand vibrator. She gave Lydia one more soft kiss on the lips before pulling away, flicking the wand on and holding it just above the taunt chain and clamp on Lydia’s clit. She smirked.

“Don’t scream.”

  
  
  



	2. Lydia Martin/Malia Tate: Getting Words Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt: "For the second bonus challenge, show or tell about a time one or more character(s) slept in another's home."
> 
> The pairing: Lydia Martin/Malia Tate
> 
> The porn: Malia has forgotten how to use sensually descriptive words. Lydia comes up with an incentive.
> 
> Palm frond fans and peeled grapes (in alpha order) to [FlutterFyre](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutterFyre/pseuds/FlutterFyre) (aka [KissofFlame](http://kissofflame.tumblr.com)), [i-am-sherlock-ed](http://i-am-sher-lock-ed.tumblr.com/), and [rayvanfox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rayvanfox/pseuds/rayvanfox) (aka [zooeyscigar](http://zooeyscigar.tumblr.com/)) for untangling my sentences and taking a whip to my occasionally astoundingly awful grammar.
> 
> All the love to [Mooney](http://astrakiseki.tumblr.com/) for prodding me with brilliant ideas when my brain was throwing mud instead of sparks. She is both a goddess and a genius <3

When it came to fight or flight, Malia had _always_ been a fighter. As a little girl, when someone (usually her sister) snatched Malia’s toys, she’d punched them in the arm and taken the toy back. As a coyote, she had run toward the things that threatened her, not away. She didn’t believe in letting fear guide her actions. She believed that if something made you afraid, you confronted it. You dealt with it. 

But when Malia opened her door after someone knocked on it, she felt an oddly powerful urge to slam it shut again. Lydia Martin, eyes narrowed and arms folded in anger, was not something Malia felt prepared to engage with. Not that Lydia looked ready to attack. In fact, she looked rumpled and _delicious_. She wore a short red skirt that showed off creamy thighs and a black shirt with gray stars on it. Her long red hair was tangled and a bit frizzy, and her nail polish was chipped.

“What?” Malia asked. She pulled the door open all the way to show she wasn’t intimidated. “Stiles isn’t here.”

Lydia raised one perfectly-plucked eyebrow. “Why would I be here for Stiles?”

“Why else would you be here?” Malia demanded.

Some of the rigidity melted from Lydia’s shoulders, and her expression turned from somewhat hostile to… Well, Malia was still in the process of relearning how to interpret human facial expressions. Ms. Morrell had even helped her find an app for her iPad to help.

“I…” Lydia hesitated, glancing down at her empty hands before looking back up at Malia. “Can I stay here for the night?”

 _That_ was unexpected. “What?” Malia asked, stepping forward, peering more closely at Lydia’s face. That expression. It was driving her crazy that she couldn’t place it.

“Ever since I turned up the volume to let _them_ in,” Lydia started, tucking her hair behind her ear, “I can’t really turn it back down.”

“Okay…”

“My mother isn’t home tonight,” Lydia added. 

“And?” Malia was sure there was more, but she was out of practice in trying to see between the lines. It was just another thing she hated about humans: their inability to get to the point.. 

At Lydia’s frown, her exasperation obvious even to Malia’s unpracticed gaze, Malia snapped.

“Why can’t you just say what you mean?” she demanded. “I’m out of practice with human double-speak and I’m not known for my patience, so don’t make me try and guess what’s between your lines. The banshee informants are loud, your mother isn’t home, and you want to stay here. I’m missing how you got from points A to C.”

This time, Lydia’s expression was immediately interpretable: she was surprised. 

“There aren’t a lot of people who understand what’s going on with me,” Lydia said decisively after a moment. “And even your grasp of the situation is minimal compared to others’. But Allison is dead. Aiden is dead. Stiles is with Derek. And Scott? I love Scott. I do. But —” She cut herself off and shrugged. “So here I am at the doorstep of one of the few people left who won’t look at me like I’m crazy when if I wave frantically at the empty air around my head, or hiss about the fact that _they_ won’t shut up, or suddenly burst into a scream.”

“Oh,” Malia replied, tilting her head as she tried to analyze Lydia’s body language. Lydia seemed to have relaxed, and Malia stepped back to allow Lydia in. This was why everyone should say what they mean, Malia thought. Honesty worked wonders on self-doubt. “Good point. Come on in.”

~~~

Malia’s room was exactly the same as it was when she ‘died’ eight years ago. She’d just gotten home from Eichen House a week ago, though, so it wasn’t comfortable or familiar yet. The oak dresser, desk, and four-poster bed with the colorful quilt _looked_ familiar, but didn’t feel it. The flower print on the wall, framed photos of family, the horse decorations she must have picked out, all served only to disorient her. They were echoes of a person she no longer could be, but was still expected to be. 

Lydia, however, seemed right at home among the pink and the flowers and the lace curtains. With a faint smile, she walked over to the door that led to the porch. The smile dissolved into a frown, forehead wrinkling at the dusky sunset woods, when she looked out at the preserve.

“Nice view.”

“Right,” Malia snorted. “From what I understand, you don’t have any reason to be fond of the Preserve.” She frowned as Lydia jiggled the handle, testing the lock. “You’re safe here, Lydia. When I was a coyote, I was pretty fierce about protecting my territory. No one, and nothing, bothers it, even now.” 

“Where’s your, uh, where’s Mr. Tate?”

“Work.” Malia sat in the chair at her desk then turned to face Lydia. “I don’t think he actually has to. There was a lot of insurance money from the accident. But it’s part of the whole human package. House, child, job.”

“Night job?” Lydia asked curiously. “That seems —”

“It isn’t,” Malia interrupted. “He’s an operations analyst for the local media’s station’s website. He works mostly during the week, but he pulls the occasional evening shift when he has to. Not often, though. Two or three times a month.”

Lydia nodded. She gave the woods one last wary glance, then kicked off her ballet flats and headed to the bed. Something curled in Malia’s stomach as she watched Lydia stretch out on the old quilt, red hair fanning out messily over the riot of color.

“Tired?” Malia asked, the word catching slightly in her throat. She swallowed, and Lydia lifted her head to peer at her curiously.

“I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I’ll get you something to wear,” Malia offered, standing again. She didn’t give Lydia a chance to respond, instead yanking the door to her closet open and stepping inside. The musty air soothed her, calmed her suddenly rabbiting heart-beat as she pushed through the small wardrobe where the pink, satin-wrapped hangers displayed clothes that were far, far too small. There were a few new pieces here and there, but she and her Dad hadn’t really gotten around to shopping yet. Mostly because Malia didn’t want to go anywhere near the mall.

There was a rustling behind her as Lydia shifted, but Malia paid no attention. She was afraid she’d turn to see Lydia stripping. Not that Malia minded nudity. Human sexuality had slammed into her full force when she’d kissed Stiles in the basement at Eichen House weeks ago, and Malia wasn’t in the habit of denying her urges. Apparently her human body was quite attracted to the female form.

Finally, Malia just pulled the simplest things she could find. The maroon sweater was something she’d stolen from her dad, mostly because it had pockets. She’d taken scissors to the collar in a fit of exasperation, however, because it felt like it was choking her. The sweatpants were brand new, though, still fuzzy and soft on the inside.

When she emerged from the closet, she found Lydia not naked — thank goodness — but curled around a familiar green notebook.

“What are you doing?” Malia demanded, tossing the clothes on the bed.

“You don’t seem like a privacy-required kind of girl, so I just thought I’d take a look,” Lydia replied unapologetically. She rolled into a sitting position, then dragged her fingers over the neat, childish handwriting on the pages. “What is it?”

Malia debated snatching the notebook away, but decided against it on pure principle. “It’s a lot of things, actually,” she replied, going back to sit in her chair. “Practice for the fine motor skills I lost when I didn’t have fingers. Practice at remembering and expressing language. A journal, so I don’t forget anything.”

Lydia nodded, then closed the book and stretched to hand it over. Malia’s chair wasn’t on wheels — it was an old fashioned, heavily-padded writing chair — so she had to stretch to take it back. Their fingers brushed and Malia felt a blush taint her cheekbones.

“The last entry was dated four days ago, when the rest were daily,” Lydia remarked, picking up the clothes on the bed. “You started describing your steamy little encounter with Stiles in the basement at Eichen House. Why did you stop writing about it? Is it because of Derek?”

Caressing the notebook, Malia shook her head. “I had fun with Stiles. We enjoyed each other, and each other’s bodies. It’s okay that he went to Derek. Coyotes aren’t possessive _or_ monogamous.”

“Interesting,” Lydia remarked, turning away from both Malia and the glass door. She grabbed the corners of her shirt, and Malia turned away quickly. “So what made you quit writing?” Lydia asked.

“Because I…” Malia started, then stopped to gather her thoughts. As a coyote, sex was about breeding. Malia wasn’t interested in such things, so she beat the holy hell out of anything that so much as glanced at her with intention. Sexuality, sensuality, and pleasure weren’t even on her radar. But as a human? Those things were intense cravings, running under her skin and through her mind like fire. “I didn’t have words.”

The shuffling on the bed paused. “Explain.”

“When Stiles touched me, I felt things. And wanted things. And when I tried to put it down on paper, I couldn’t — I couldn’t say it right. I don’t have the words.”

“I know lots of words,” Lydia said. “In lots of languages. I’d like to help.”

“Okay,” Malia said with a shrug, hiding how something throbbed low in her stomach at the words.

A few more minutes of the soft rustle of cloth were followed by the squeak of bedsprings as Lydia climbed off the bed. “How shall we start?” she asked as she crossed the room to lean against the door. She was so close that Malia could smell the subtle coconut and hibiscus of her shampoo. 

But when Malia turned to answer, the words got stuck in her throat. Lydia had decided that only the sweater was needed for night time clothing. She leaned against the window, mouth slightly open, eyes dark with promise. Her hair was curled around her neck to flow over her shoulder, the red toned down to bronze in the light of the setting sun. The hem barely covered the tops of her thighs, which weren’t quite closed in Lydia’s recline. Malia couldn’t see the hint of panties at the line of dark maroon against pale skin, but given the way the round curve of Lydia’s breasts showed from under the collar’s slit, Malia suspected that Lydia hadn’t bothered with underwear at all.

“Words?” Lydia asked softly, clasping her hands together in front of her, arms stretched seductively down to her waist.

“Jesus,” Malia exhaled, gripping her own denim-clad thighs to keep from reaching out.

“That won’t work,” Lydia chuckled. “How about… stimulating?”

“That works,” Malia choked out, swallowing. She stared at Lydia, the silence drawing out until she realized that Lydia was waiting, expectant. “Uh, arousing?”

Lydia grinned, then brought one of her own fingers up to her mouth, nipping at the tip. Malia felt her body flush at the image and her panties grow damp. It had been nice with Stiles — warm and intense and tingly. But this? This was something else entirely. Something so, so much better.

“Good, Malia,” Lydia praised, smirking around her finger. She dragged it down, pulling at her bottom lip until it slid free. Then she took the spit-slick finger and started to drag it up the outside of her bare thigh. “Licentious.”

“Unchaste,” Malia replied, shifting to spread her legs just a little wider.

This time, Malia’s reward was Lydia’s finger curling into a hook as she slid it upward. It caught on the edge of the sweater, and as the sweater was slowly lifted, Malia glimpsed a light patch of curly red hair at the crease of where Lydia’s thigh met her lower body. “Luxurious.”

“Fuck,” Malia whispered, helplessly shifting against the heat between her legs. 

“Hmmm,” Lydia chastised, frowning as she released the hem. Malia swallowed as it fell back in place.

“Epicurean,” Malia tried hastily, leaning forward a little towards Lydia’s body.

“Much better,” Lydia said with a nod. She hooked another finger in the torn curl of her sweater’s neckline, tugging to reveal the even deeper curve of her left breast. Malia’s mouth watered and she wished she could lean forward to lick it. But she didn’t want to break the spell, and Lydia was obviously the type to keep control. “Hedonistic.”

“Voluptuous.”

Lydia took a step forward and reached for Malia’s hands, which Malia gave freely. Lydia guided them to her hips, then pushed herself between Malia’s spread legs. “Self-indulgent.”

For once, Malia cursed her own intolerance to pop culture. She was sure that if she’d been able to stand a romance movie or two, she’d be better prepared for this game. She wracked her brain for the faint memories of every last bedtime tale her mother had read to her, desperately trying to make words _hers_ again.

Sensing her distress, Lydia squeezed her hands around Malia’s, smiling. “Take your time.”

Take her time? Malia felt like her brain was slowly melting, her lax grip on humanity loosening even further as she dissolved into nothing but hot desire — “Feverish!” she blurted out.

This time, Lydia’s hum was pleased. She gracefully climbed into Malia’s lap, knees braced on either side of Malia’s thighs. She didn’t sit on Malia’s legs, but held herself rigid to look down softly at Malia’s no-doubt dumbstruck expression.

“Sultry,” Lydia offered as Malia began to shake. She guided Malia’s hands up, taking the sweater with her.

“Provocative.” This time, the word came easy.

Then Lydia’s sweater came off.

“Titillating,” Lydia said, eyebrows raised as Malia stared at her.

Fortunately, Malia knew how to take _that_ hint. She groaned and leaned forward, sucking one of Lydia’s small, peaked nipples into her mouth. Lydia groaned and threaded a hand through Malia’s hair, gripping it hard enough to sting. She didn’t pull Malia away, however, but arched into her mouth with a heavy sigh.

With an answering groan, Malia pulled back and looked up in awe at the gentle curve of Lydia’s neck, the sharp ridge of her collarbone, the soft skin of her stomach. She ran her hands up Lydia’s sides, hard enough not to tickle, gentle enough to tease. “Breathtaking,” she whispered before leaning in to take Lydia’s other nipple into her mouth.

“Yes,” Lydia hissed, rolling her hips forward until they pressed into Malia’s body. “Inflaming.”

“Lydia,” Malia begged, moving her mouth from Lydia’s tit to the gentle curve of her breast. She sucked kisses into the soft, hot, damp skin, relishing the way Lydia trembled under her. “Intoxicating.”

With a harsh tug, Lydia pulled Malia away from her chest. Then she reached down and unfastened the button of Malia’s jeans. Malia secretly thrilled at being fully dressed while Lydia panted naked above her. Then Lydia reached into Malia’s panties, thin fingers sliding down into the damp folds between her legs.

Desperately trying to hold in the claws that were threatening to make an appearance, Malia gripped Lydia’s hips and thrust up. They weren’t in a position to make contact, however, so Malia tried to pull Lydia down.

“Here,” Lydia said, voice a low, sensual tickle in Malia’s ear as she slid off of Malia’s lap — the exact opposite of what Malia wanted. Before she had a chance to protest, however, Lydia tugged the zipper open then pulled Malia’s jeans and panties down to her thighs. Then she knelt, leaned in and _licked_. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Malia gasped, hips jerking forward as Lydia’s tongue found her clit. “Oh god, sorry! I’m sorry,” she apologized as Lydia pulled away.

“Don’t be,” Lydia smirked. She gave Malia a confident look, tossed her hair back, then leaned in again.

All Malia’s words fled her again as she became a writhing mess of sensations under Lydia’s skilled and relentless mouth. Lydia refused to remove Malia’s jeans, so her legs were caught just barely wide enough for Lydia to squeeze in between. The constriction added something perfect to the mix of tension and sheer, overwhelming pleasure, and it wasn’t long before Malia reached a breaking point. 

“Stop,” she cried, trembling as she felt the intensity build to something she hadn’t experienced yet. It was shocking, how frightening the concept of orgasm was to her, and that alone was enough to yank her back from the edge as Lydia pulled away, mouth wet as she looked up at Malia in concern.

“Please,” Malia begged, reaching down for Lydia. “I need to touch you. Just… up here. Please.”

With a soft smile, Lydia rose to her feet and climbed back into the chair. This time, she settled her feet next to Malia’s hips, sitting on Malia’s legs. The position pushed their vulvas together perfectly, and both of them groaned in synchronicity.

The weight settled Malia, Lydia’s body a warm security against the threat of flying apart into a thousand shattered pieces that would never come back together. Lydia rocked slowly against Malia, head once again thrown back, and Malia pulled her forward so she could get her mouth on Lydia again.

At first it felt amazing, the slick slide of skin against skin a perfect, burning pleasure. But then Lydia groaned again and pulled one of Malia’s hands from her waist to her clit. Copying what Lydia had done to her, Malia pressed two finger together and rubbed in sweet, fast circles until Lydia was a shaking mess above her.

When Lydia came, it transformed her whole body from a hot, sweaty mass of frenetic lust into a sharp line of rigid ecstasy, face hauntingly beautiful as she rode out the waves of pleasure coursing through her. As soon as Lydia’s body relaxed, Malia pulled her down, kissing her messily in sheer gratitude. Tasting herself on Lydia’s tongue was a surprise, but one Malia found she didn’t mind. She wondered if Lydia would mind, when their positions were reversed. 

“Your turn?” Lydia asked when she’d finally recovered her breath.

Malia nodded. “Yeah. I think — yeah.”

Lydia nodded. She reached down between them and teased Malia’s opening without actually sinking her fingers in, which Malia was grateful for. She didn’t know yet if penetrative sex was something she liked. Then, when she was twitching impatiently into Lydia’s hand, Lydia moved her fingers up.

Perhaps it was how close she’d been before she stopped Lydia, but it took only moments for Malia to come. Her orgasm was unexpected and all-encompassing, spreading from between her legs down to her toes and up through her spine to her neck. Lydia clung to her as Malia shouted and shook, holding her until it passed.

“Exquisite,” Malia gasped out. 

Lydia gently pulled herself free and stood, chuckling down at Malia’s still-twitching body. “No more rewards. At least, not right now.” She took Malia’s hand and pulled her up. “Cuddles and rest.”

“Cuddles?” Malia asked, raising an eyebrow as she shakily got to her feet. She stripped out of her clothes, throwing them to floor on her way to the bed.

“Another thing you’ll like,” Lydia promised.

“Next time we should do facial expressions,” Malia chuckled, pulling the quilt and topsheet down. “Maybe having incentive will help me learn faster.”

Lydia slipped into the bed quietly, watching as Malia slid in next to her. “Of course,” she said, holding her arms open.

Grinning, Malia tucked herself in close, warmer than she’d felt since trading in her fur coat for human skin, and fell asleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Reference Photo for Lydia in the Sweater ](http://bootsnblossoms.tumblr.com/post/85764199638/beauty-is-in-all-shapes-and-sizes)   
>  [Reference for the Lesbian Kama Sutra Position Used](http://www.wewomen.ca/relationships/album962602/lesbian-kama-sutra-100-sex-positions-for-women-23164424.html#p34)


	3. Jennifer Blake/Kali

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt: "For this week's bonus challenge, I want you guys to use the [Out of Context D&D tumblr](http://outofcontextdnd.tumblr.com/archive) as your inspiration!"
> 
> The pairing: Jennifer Blake/Kali
> 
> The porn: Guilt is a terrible thing to waste. (warning: slightly dubcon)

Kali _knew_ that something was wrong, even if she couldn’t articulate it. Her limbs felt heavy, her eyelids drooped, and her claws retracted completely without permission. The moon overhead shone bright and mercilessly as Kali felt overwhelmed by a compulsion she couldn’t name. It drew her not into the forest, where the heart of this town’s dark magic beat a steady thump of pain, misery, and power, but into the city.

The rest of her pack didn’t notice as she slipped away from them, padding silently down the steps of the apartment building they’d taken residence in. She slipped silently past the Argents, past the nine-to-fivers, past the family of six that Kali could hear even from the penthouse suite. The scents of humans, cats, meals, and family all tried to assault her senses and memories, catching her off guard the way evidence of domesticity always did, but Kali paid no mind. Her anger and self-righteousness was dulled tonight by whatever chord tugged her through the outskirts to the center city.

The house Kali ended up at was three stories tall with beige wooden paneling and tiled house numbers that had flowers wrapping around their script. It was two hundred years old if it was a day and, if the buzzers on the porch were anything to go by, had been split into five apartments in the modern era of convince and high property values. 

Kali didn’t remember opening the front door. She didn’t remember the creak of wooden steps and floorboards as she made her way up to the attic apartment (number five). In between leaving the modern suite she shared with Duke, Ennis, and the twins, and coming here, she remembered nothing but the moment she realized _who_ had drawn her in. 

Julia.

“Jennifer,” Julia corrected with a face that was completely different from the one Kali remembered, but with a voice and a scent that was _exactly_ the same. “It’s not Julia anymore, Kali. It’s Jennifer.” Then she took Kali’s hand - soft, not dangerous - and led her to the bedroom.

Going to bed with Jul - _Jennifer_ \- was everything Kali remembered and still ached for in the quiet, lonely nights that had become the norm when she’d joined the Alpha pack. Jennifer was slow and methodical, but not careful. She pulled Kali’s leggings off slowly without easing Kali’s impatience with kisses or caresses. Kali’s panties were simply ripped away, the lace shredded under Jennifer’s powerful tug. When it came time to remove Kali’s shirt, Jennifer only pulled it halfway free so that Kali’s face was shrouded in cotton for long, suffocating minutes. She panted and gasped while Jennifer held her down, preternaturally strong grip on the shirt keeping Kali from twisting free. It was finally then, when Kali was sobbing and begging, that Jennifer graced Kali’s skin with her touch. She settled over Kali’s body, somehow having lost her own clothes while Kali was distracted, breasts pressed to breasts, hips to hips, legs to legs. It didn’t take long to bring Kali off with simple but delicious movement; it had been too long for both of them, and they’d craved it too much to pretend otherwise. Only after Kali had screamed her orgasm into her shirt did Jennifer finally free her of it.

Body hot and sated, Kali curled worshipfully around Jennifer and waited for the ax to fall. “I miss you,” she breathed into the silence, truthful and desperate. “I’m so _sick_ of the bickering, the fighting. _How_ did I get stuck with a pack full of men?”

“Do you think they’d be better if they were all women?” Jennifer asked, voice amused but somehow serious. Kali didn’t doubt she was - Jennifer was far more powerful than she had been when she was still Julia. Maybe she was looking for a way back in. A trade. A wish for Kali and a place for Jennifer. 

Jennifer was spooned around Kali’s longer, more muscular body, a hand tracing from neck to hip and back up again in a way that was achingly familiar.

“No, I don’t think so,” Kali finally responded. “It would be fun, at first, to take testosterone out of the equation. Less bickering, more compromising. Less kissing ass and rebuffing of sexual advances, more actual tactical strategizing.”

Jennifer hummed but didn’t stop her stroking.

“Then again, I think I’m over simplifying. You turn them into women, and then what? [What if they objectify each other anyway? They’d be gorgeous of course, but they’d just be smokin' hot misogynist lesbians.](http://outofcontextdnd.tumblr.com/post/85878634404/what-if-they-objectify-each-other-like-theyre)”

With a snort, Jennifer stopped petting Kali’s side and slid her arm around Kali’s chest, letting her fingers brush tauntingly under the curve of Kali’s breast. “I don’t think that word means what you think it means,” she said.

“Which word?” Kali asked, shivering at Jennifer’s touch.

“Misogyny means hatred of women. Objectification doesn’t necessarily factor in. And it’s absolutely possible to be identify as female and still be a misogynist. I know _many_ women who hate themselves and everyone else, too.”

Kali thought about what she’d had to do to join Deucalion’s pack, what she continues to do because there is nothing else but _power_. “That’s true,” she admitted softly.

Jennifer sighed then rolled on top of Kali. She bracketed Kali’s hips with her knees and pressed her into the bed with a tight grip and a hopeful look.

“I could stop this,” she said quietly. “We could leave. Together. Go somewhere else and start over, just you and me. I’d do anything. Whatever you need to make you feel powerful.”

For one foolish moment, Kali was on the brink of saying yes. She thought of mountains and freedom and love and magic. She thought of warm nights, never alone, always in love. She thought of hope, and joy, and freedom.

Freedom. The kind that came from never being vulnerable because you _are_ the monster under the bed.

When Kali shook her head, Jennifer’s eyes grew dark.

“Fine,” she said, rolling off of Kali. She redressed in the unsteady darkness just before dawn. “But your guilt is what’s going to allow me to win, Kali. There will be a point when I will kill you, and the only reason it will work is because you’ll _let_ me.”

“Probably,” Kali sighed, struggling to keep her eyes open. She knew that moment she succumbed to sleep, Jennifer would take her memories, and then send her back to Deucalion. 

“Don’t fight it,” Jennifer whispered, coming close again to brush her fingertips over Kali’s leaden eyelids. “Just don’t fight it.”

As darkness descended, Kali realized that she knew she wouldn’t.


	4. Marin Morrell/Melissa McCall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt: "For the fourth bonus challenge all entries need to be either a Crossover or Fusion." (I chose Supernatural.)
> 
> The pairing: Marin Morrell/Melissa McCall
> 
> The porn: A warm, sleepy morning... until it's interrupted by a couple of chuckleheads.

  
“Curls are my favorite,” Marin said, twisting a brown lock of Melissa’s hair around her finger. She tugged before releasing the strand, tucking it behind Melissa’s ear. Then she pulled free another curl, this time tugging it a little harder.  
  
Melissa’s eyes fluttered closed and she smiled softly. Body unfurling from the sleepy curl she’d relaxed into, she stretched, almond-colored skin glowing on the white sheets of Marin’s bed.   
  
“I think we got a little distracted,” Melissa accused with a chuckle. “You were supposed to be teaching me more about mountain ash, mistletoe, rowan -“  
  
“Right now, in this moment,” Marin interrupted, “I’d rather talk about curls.” She slipped her hand from Melissa’s hair and slide it down her neck and collar bone. Melissa sighed, content and warm, as Marin traced her breast, her stomach, her abs. Then the sigh turned into a sharp gasp as Marin’s fingers found new hair to tangle in. “Soft, black, beautiful curls,” Marin continued, stroking the patch of hair between Melissa’s legs.  
  
Marin’s fingers had just moved down enough to make Melissa arch and gasp when a hard rapping at her front door interrupted them.   
  
“ _Hijo de tu puta madre_ ,” Melissa muttered as Marin pulled away. She watched as Marin pulled a red robe over her bare chocolate skin, shameless admiring the smooth lines of her lithe body. Then she followed suit, grabbing the free robe from the chair next to the bed.  
  
Marin opened the door to see two men, denim-claid and rough looking, waiting impatiently. The shorter one glanced at Marin, then Melissa, then back to Marin again and smiled stupidly.   
  
“Well, looks like we came at a good time!”  
  
“Dean. Sam.” Marin sighed and shook her head. “There’s a diner with great strawberry pie downtown. I’ll see you in an hour.” Then she shut the door in their faces and turned back to Melissa. “Now. Where were we?”  
  
"Curls," Melissa reminded her, then led Marin back to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Fic previews, eye candy, prompt fills, and gpoy galore [on my Tumblr](http://bootsnblossoms.tumblr.com/).


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